Whumptober Day 5 - every whumpee’s needs | blood loss | running out of air | hyperthermia
content: major character death, stabbing, begging
tell me if i missed anything!
———
“I’m sorry for leaving.” Whumper doesn’t pause. “I’m so so sorry for leaving. I won’t do it again, I swear.” The words leave Whumpee’s mouth as fresh tears leave their eyes when they see Whumper raise the sledgehammer again. They promise that they’ll be good now, so very good. No, Whumper, no need to break the other leg. Please, there’s really no need. They’ll behave well, they will. Please please please don’t.
The hopelessness doesn’t stop them from trying. But Whumper doesn’t care. Whumper barely notices as they raise the sledgehammer again and again and again, and Whumpee’s screeams slowly die out as their vocal cords can take it no longer. What good will it do, anyway? An abandoned warehouse with no one nearby merits no chance of a rescue.
“You lost that chance, Whumpee. You lost it when you ran away. I’m not looking for defective toys, you’re nothing to me now.”
They nod frantically, trying so hard to appease the person holding a weapon above them. Please, they’ll do anything. Please, make it stop.
“You want it to end, don’t you?” Whumpee’s eyes dare to light up with hope. That expression falls and gives way to pure terror when Whumper pulls out a knife. “I’ll grant your wish.”
There is no voice left to scream when Whumper starts stabbing, and stabbing; an insanity borne from fury driving their actions. Eventually, they stop, straightening their clothes and drying the knife.
They smile, before turning to leave. “I’m sure Caretaker will be glad to see you again.”
—
An eternity of pain came, never leaving, never ending. They waited. For what, they weren’t sure. Whumper had left them to suffer alone. To die alone.
Why had they mentioned Caretaker? Had they killed them too? No, they couldn’t think that way, they couldn’t. Then, there would really be no hope left in the world.
Whumpee heard frantic footsteps, getting louder and louder. Had Whumper came back for them? Did they regret what they did? They almost snorted; Whumper was too self-assured to ever regret anything. To ever feel guilt.
“Whumpee, can you hear me?” Huh, that’s funny. It sounded like Caretaker. “Whumpee, please. Please tell me you’re still here.”
Slowly, they opened their tired eyes. If they squinted, it kind of looked like them too. Only a little bit though, their eyes were blurred by now. They couldn’t make out any distinct features even though the person was right above them.
A hand touched their shoulder, and they flinched. The hand pulled away quickly.
Wait, was that…real? A real hand from a real person, could it be?
“Caretaker?”
The figure nodded, quickly quickly quickly. The hand reappeared on their shoulder, and this time they didn’t flinch. Caretaker’s voice cracked. “Yes. Yes, Whumpee, it’s me. Don’t leave, I’ve just found you again.”
“Your clothes…they’re gonna get bloody.” Whumpee’s voice was soft, gentle. They couldn’t speak any louder, anyway.
“They don’t matter. My clothes don’t matter so, please.”
Whumpee smiled weakly. They knew there was nothing they could do. “I’m sorry, Caretaker.”
Contains: generic whumpee and whumper, leader whumper, forced labor
Whumpee stumbled, catching themself with their shoulder against the wall, and quickly set down the heavy load in their arms before they ended up dropping it. Exhaustion weighed heavily on their body. Leaning their head against the wall, they shut their eyes, feeling their insides practically tremble.
“Excuse me?” Leader’s voice echoed down the hall, and Whumpee flinched, immediately struggling to straighten. “Who said that you could rest? Do you realize how much work still has to be done?”
How much work you still have to do, is what they meant. Because it was all Whumpee’s job, according to them. And after this job, there’d be another. And another. It was never ending.
“I just needed a second,” they mumbled, knowing already that it would do no good. Bending, they heaved up their load again, nearly falling over but managing to right themself.
“We don’t have a second,” Leader snapped, predictably. “Quit being lazy and speed it up.”
Whumpee didn’t have it in them to respond. All of their focus had to go into putting one foot in front of the other without collapsing.
They didn’t want to look. But Whumpee found themself drawn to the mirror, anyway, somehow needing to know what they looked like.
What Whumper had done to them.
Immediately their attention went to the grotesque ring around their eye, all mottled purples and greens like a watercolor painting. Their gaze skipped downward, wandering the path of brown, blue, and yellow across their chest, down one arm, and back up the other. Each splotch of color was a different size, a different shape. They told a story, one Whumpee could vividly remember in flashes of pain and fear.
Lifting their shirt revealed a whole new canvas, the focal point a massive splash of black across two ribs. The edges of it faded into purple, and smaller versions were scattered all across their stomach.
Whumpee dropped their shirt and met their own gaze in the mirror. Slowly, gripping the edge of the counter, they raised their chin so that the streaks of color on their neck came fully into view. Ten distinct shapes wrapped in each direction, still bright red and slightly swollen. Swallowing carefully, they winced at the pain. If it had gone on just a few seconds longer…
But it didn’t. They were still here, still alive, and these marks would fade in a matter of time.
They hummed to themself as they studied the tree, one of those super cheery songs that played in all the stores at this time of year and easily got stuck in everyone’s head. They didn’t mind, though. They were in the Christmas spirit, practically giddy with excitement, and the song suited the mood.
Picking up the next ornament, they stepped gingerly up to the branches, careful not to crush any of the presents already nestled underneath. The little red and white candy cane sparkled beneath the colored lights. It put a smile on their face, just as all the rest had.
They stopped for a sip of their apple cider before deciding where the very last ornament would hang. All that was left now was the topper, and they had to pull up a chair to stand on for that. It took a little bit of wiggling and adjusting and finagling, but soon the star stood proudly on the highest point of the tree. Stepping back, they clasped their hands together and took it all in with a happy sigh.
“It’s perfect. They’re going to love it.” Their gaze drifted down, and their smile grew. “Though they’ll probably be too enamored by their gift to even notice the tree.”
Dropping to their knees, Whumper double-checked the ribbons that wrapped tightly around Whumpee’s waist and held them against the trunk of the tree, then the matching ones that tied their wrists and ankles and served as a gag. Whumpee looked at them with wide, pleading eyes that shone particularly prettily with the reflections of the lights. They kicked their legs a little, and the branches shook, sending a small shower of needles down around them.
“Uh uh uh,” Whumper tsked. “You’ll pull the tree down on yourself, and that wouldn’t be good, would it? You might hurt yourself, and ruin all of my hard work.” They patted Whumpee’s cheek. “I feel like there’s something missing, though…”
Standing, they crossed to the wrapping supplies and fished out a large, red bow, peeled off the backing, and returned to stick it onto Whumpee’s forehead. “There. Perfect.” They clapped their hands and did a little happy dance. “Ooh, I can’t wait! Whumper 2 is going to adore you!”
Light dances against the stone walls, shadows looming larger than life. Each torch that Whumpee passes quivers with the disturbance of air, and they cringe each time as if someone might notice the change.
It’s not as bad as the clinking of chains, though. Despite the fact that they have a firm grip on it, trying to hold it taut, the chain linking their shackles makes an occasional small noise that’s deafening in the otherwise silent corridor. They feel like they’re not breathing at all, straining their ears to listen for the approach of guards, waiting for the silence to come crashing down on them at any second.
But it doesn’t. Somehow, despite their bruises aching and their heart pounding, they make it to the end of the corridor and up the staircase, and the door out of the dungeon doesn’t even creak on its hinges.
They’ve made it out into the main part of the castle, which is good, but now they’re more aware that they’re not alone. Voices echo off the stone. Every new noise makes them jump, which makes the chain clink, which makes their heart lodge in their throat.
But there’s only a few more turns to go. They know this castle well, know where the closest exit is, and from there it’ll only be a short sprint to the forest. They staunchly ignore the dread that coils in their sore muscles at the thought of running and keep creeping closer to freedom with their back pressed against the wall.
There’s the door. No one is in sight, no one is going to stop them. It seems too good to be true, but they can’t stop to second guess it now. Freedom is so close.
The cold night air tastes sweet after the dank and musty dungeon. They take a split second to breathe it in as they glance around, making sure the coast is clear before they take a step forward toward the trees.
“Whumpee. Don’t take another step.”
They nearly yelp with fright at the sudden intrusion, stumbling backwards as an entire company of guards rounds the corner and marches straight at them. No. No! They’re so close. They look frantically back and forth between the approaching soldiers and the forest, debating if they can somehow still make it. They’d probably end up with an arrow lodged between their shoulder blades. It might be better than what they know awaits them back in the dungeon.
Before they can attempt, though, the company is upon them with swords and bows drawn. A few hold torches aloft, casting the same flickering shadows across each stern face.
And at the very front, their own torch in hand… Whumpee’s heart drops to their toes. “M-mentor? What…what are you doing?”
One eyebrow raises, but there’s no trace of sympathy, no sign of the person they thought they knew. “I could ask you the same thing. Here I thought you were better than this foolish attempt, but I suppose I was wrong.”
No, this can’t be happening. Mentor is supposed to be on their side, is supposed to defend them, not try to keep them in chains, imprisoned for something they didn’t do.
“You have to know I’m innocent. You…please, Mentor. Don’t do this.” Tears prick at their eyes, but they refuse to seem even weaker by letting them fall.
Mentor sighs, a familiar, heavy sound that they never wanted to hear directed at them. “You disappoint me, Whumpee.” They wave a hand lazily. “Take them.”
It’s too late to try running now, but that doesn’t stop them from lunging forward. The gloved hands of the soldiers are on them before they can make it three steps, yanking them backwards by the arms.
“No! No! Mentor, please, I’m innocent, you know I’m innocent, you have to help me, please!” They tug and kick with all their might, but they’re far outnumbered and their strength is waning.
Mentor’s expression never changes. They turn their shoulder toward Whumpee, unmoved by their pleas. “Take them back. And this time, make sure they can’t escape again.”
Any remaining fight drains out of their body. They slump into the soldier’s arms, allowing themselves to be dragged away, and no longer bother to hold back the tears.
